


By Tonight

by beebzly (Beebzly)



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Dom/sub, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beebzly/pseuds/beebzly
Summary: You’re curious- is Murdoc’s Sex God status exaggerated or is he the real deal?
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Reader
Kudos: 66





	By Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I received a prompt on Tumblr for a Murdoc/Reader short, so I decided to post it here as well!
> 
> It’s a quicky, but sometimes that’s all we really need, right?

“Did you see how many bras I got thrown at me, tonight?” Murdoc says, jabbing his elbow in you as he chugs from a bottle of whiskey. You shove his sweaty arm away from you, rolling your eyes.

“Not as many as I did,” you reply, knowing it will get under his skin. He glares at you, slamming the bottle down on the table. Leave it up to you to ruin his mood and stomp down his ego a little.

“What do you even know?”

“Oops, did I bruise the sex god’s ego?” He huffs, taking the bottle again, shoving it in your face.

“Here, you’re less of a bitch when you’re drunk.”

You shove the bottle away, “I have no idea where that mouth has been, no thanks,” Instead you op for the bottle of beer you brought off stage. “I’ll stick with mine,” you say as you chug it, upset at how warm it’s gotten. As the rest of the band filters into the dressing room, Murdoc gets increasingly more hammered as the night wears on. He whines to 2D about a gaggle of groupies he wants them to split, but 2D turns him down, citing a pounding headache.

By the time Murdoc decides to close the deal for himself, they’ve already gone. “This is your fault, you dullard!” He comes back into the dressing room to smack 2D on the back of his head before gathering his clothes and booze to head for the bus. Nothing unusual here, so you give 2D a pat on his shoulder for reassurance, as you follow Murdoc out to the busses.

Murdoc always gets on edge when he’s got pent up aggression, especially when he thought he’d be able to take it out on some poor slag. You watch as he sits down at the table, shoulders slumped as he chugs from his bottle. “It’s not 2D’s fault you couldn’t close the deal with those groupies, you know.” He turns an unwelcome, glaring eye to you.

“They’d gone when I got there. Murdoc Niccals has never had a problem closing a deal in his life!” You smirk, getting under his skin is so easy even though he likes to act tough.

“You’ve never closed any sort of deal with me, Niccals.”

“You’re in this band, aren’t you? You think Stu makes those decisions?” he snorts, like he can’t even believe someone would have more authority than him.

“That’s not what I meant,” you reply, not even sure what you’re saying. The look on his face has you feeling, bad for him? You can’t believe you can admit that to yourself. “It’s just some groupies, come on.” It’s weird seeing him look this disappointed, but he ignores you. Typical.

You feel it on the tip of your tongue, even though you aren’t quite sure why the thought is even in your head, but with the help of a large chug of your fifth beer this evening you blurt, “Bet I’m a better lay than any of those skanks anyway.” That gets his attention, turning a squinting gaze to you.

“You talk a lot,” he grumbles, an indication that he wants you to shut up and leave him alone. You shrug, already having put the offer on the table, it’s his choice to turn it down. You stop to look at him, he looks tired, a sight of him you’ve never seen before.

“Suit yourself,” you say, heading back toward the bunks, but eyes are on you. Is he, checking you out? “Please tell me you aren’t looking at my arse, Niccals.” Murdoc groans, that kind of annoyed sound he makes when he’s being put on the spot.

“So what if I am, harmless to be looking. I can appreciate a nice arse, I’m not heartless,” he exhales. You roll your eyes, your heart thumping in your ears. Why is this happening and because of Murdoc of all people? Tossing your stuff into your bunk, you walk to the mini fridge and take out a fresh beer, a generous chug puts you in the sweet spot.

“So you think I have a nice arse?” You level with him, waiting for him to break eye contact but he doesn’t. Instead, he rises from his seat to close the gap between the two of you.

“I would if it wasn’t attached to your body.” You feel your cheeks heat up, his words are pointed and purposeful. Banter between you two is typical, but never has it had a sexual edge.

You can’t help but shove him away a little, he’s far too close for your liking, “fuck off.” He’s only bothered to take a small step back, an unnerving smirk on his face.

“That was one weak shove,” he steps back to the same place, his smoky, liquored breath wafting to your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose, annoyed at the feeling of wanting him to take another step closer. “Try again.” The challenge confuses you, but it’s gone this far, what’s another step?

You lift your hands to shove at his shoulders, but his reflexes are faster than you anticipate. He snatches your wrists in his hands, pulling your body directly against his. You maintain eye contact despite your intuition urging you to run, your heart leaping to your throat. You wriggle a little in his grasp, but part of you doesn’t want to break free. Your curiosity has already been piqued.

Not letting go of you, he lowers your wrists and presses you backward, your back hitting the wall with a thump. Air flees your lungs as he presses his thin lips against yours, the taste of his tongue is liquor dumped on a stale ashtray but the residual cocaine is causing your mouth to go numb, so it didn’t matter. The thing that bothers you most is how aroused you’ve become, now feeling his ample package pressing against your thigh.

You were being sarcastic earlier when you called him a sex god, you’ve heard all the stories and the legends (most of them perpetrated by him) and didn’t believe their hype in the least. But here, now, your tongues fighting for attention from each other as the heat rises through your body- you begin to wonder if there’s some truth to the rumors.

He drops your wrists and breaks the kiss, starting to back away but you clutch at his stained t-shirt, causing him to freeze. What now, what did you want? “Don’t,” you say, but you aren’t sure what to say, your mind just laser focused on finding out now. His gaze lowers, a look you’ve never seen before that sends a welcome chill down your spine. He looks like he’s going to eat you alive and you worry that he might.

“You sure about this? Once you’ve had a taste of the Niccals, life is never the same again.” Taking a deep sigh you can’t help rolling your eyes but before you can refocus on the idiot before you, his hand is around your throat. A wave of shock rolls through you, fast replaced by a surge through your center. Your eyes focus on his mismatched ones, something you’ve never done in the presence of Murdoc is show fear and you aren’t about to start now. He’s not even pressing on your windpipe, he’s just applying a slight pressure as a warning that he’s taking control of this situation.

“Kiss me again,” you whisper, he’s stolen your loudness with his grip. He obliges, your teeth and tongues mashing in an urgent search for what each other wants in the moment. His hand grips your throat a little tighter, a gentle moan floats from your mouth into his. He presses his full body weight against you, while he isn’t heavy, the pressure is enough for you to know you’ve made this choice now and he’s intending to see it through. 

His free hand snakes up your thigh, across your hip, over the curve of your breast before finding its way to your hair. He balls some hair up in his palm before tugging hard enough to break the kiss, his lips and teeth finding your throat. His sharp teeth cut into your skin, causing you to dig your fingers into his bony hips, the move shocking you more than it hurts.

Without sight, your fingers move to fumble against his belt, snapping it open before running your sweating palm over the bulge in his jeans. He slobbers his way across your neck with a groan, you feel him twitch against your pressing hand, as he sinks his teeth into your earlobe. You hiss, pressing against his chest in protest with your free hand, but your other hand squeezes equally hard on his clothed bulge. He pulls back but presses you harder against the wall with his grip.

He pulls his mouth from you, instead concentrating on ridding you of your shirt and bra, the garments flying down the bus aisle away from your bodies. He nips his way across your collarbone, sucking on the sides of your breasts, as you continue your fumble with his jeans, managing to get the button open and the zipper down, his continues to leave bruising marks on your chest as you tug his jeans down. He steps out of them, his mouth finding your neck again, opting this time to leave hurried kisses instead.

His boxer briefs barely contain to his erection now, so you reach in to free it, his hands work your skirt up over your thighs. He leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth, causing you to scratch at his shoulders as he runs eager hands up the insides of your thighs.

His fingers graze across your panties, he whimpers, much to your surprise. He finds your earlobe again, his tug gentle this time as he growls, “How are you so fucking wet right now.” Your knees buckle a little at the question, hating the fact that you are. Your hand grabs at his erection, jerking with purpose in response to his question.

He dips down to grip your leg, pulling it around his waist, his fingers pulling your panties to the side, dipping into your warmth for a moment. He makes a few aroused noises before you aim him at the entrance, “fuck me already,” you demand, taking a fistful of his hair. He doesn’t hesitate or take your comfort into consideration, slamming his thick length inside you. You call out, both of your hands using his sweaty hair for grip as you balance on one leg, your lower back banging against the wall with each forceful thrust inside you.

You slide a hand down his back to grip his tight ass, urging his thrusts a little deeper still. “I’ve wanted to know what your insides feel like for so long,” he growls, causing you to gasp out, a tingle and a shiver radiating across your nerves. The pressure building, his grip on your leg slipping, you toss both arms around his neck, encouraging him to grab you under both thighs, hoisting your body off the floor. As you wrap your legs around his waist, you both fall back against the wall, causing him to thrust deeper into you still.

Able to tilt your hips up a little more at this angle, he hits that perfect spot inside you, rubbing a few times with more effort, his grunts in your ear as he buries his face in your hair. You both clutch in desperation at each other’s hair, your pants coming out in shorter and shorter bursts. “Murdoc,” you try but you can’t say anymore, your orgasm building intensity. He doesn’t acknowledge you at first, until you feel his fingers between your bodies, the pad of his pointer finger finds your clit.

After only a moment longer, your orgasm explodes, “Oh shit,” you gasp, your body going rigid against his, his final thrusts have all of your nerves at their very edge, forcing you to climax to your fullest. After a moment, gathering in the afterglow, he lets your legs go, your feet meeting the ground in wobbling contact.

You tug your skirt down as he backs away from you, fixing his boxers as he stumbles toward his jeans on the floor. You watch for a moment, the reality of what you just did setting in even through the haze you’re still feeling. You hadn’t cum like that ever in your life, mentally kicking yourself for having intimate knowledge that Murdoc’s bragging isn’t baseless.

Still topless, you aren’t sure how to approach the topic on the forefront of your mind now- where and when can we do this again?


End file.
